


If you don’t like the way I talk, then why am I on your mind?

by NoMournerNoFunerals93



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sakusa Kiyoomi, Dirty Talk, Getting Together, Locker Room Sex, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Oblivious Miya Atsumu, Post-Time Skip, Riding, Sakusa Kiyoomi is a Menace, Shower Sex, Top Miya Atsumu, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28038540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMournerNoFunerals93/pseuds/NoMournerNoFunerals93
Summary: Huh?It’s such a foreign concept, so wildly outside the realm of any reality for Sakusa to be saying something like that to Atsumu, of all people. He spends so much of his brainpower focusing on the fact that Sakusa even has the words in his repertoire, that he almost forgets the comment is directed at him.By the time he registers this fact, Sakusa is leaving, like he hadn’t just spun Atsumu’s world on its head.Or Sakusa Kiyoomi uses pick-up lines on Atsumu until he breaks.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 55
Kudos: 647
Collections: Bottomi Week 2021, HQ Thirstmas 2020





	If you don’t like the way I talk, then why am I on your mind?

**Author's Note:**

> HQ Thirstmas 2020 submission for Day 5: Dirty Talk~~
> 
> I am once again apologizing in advance for this fic, it’s hella cursed but when I thought of the idea, I wrote 4k in one sitting like a woman possessed. I have no explanations, only apologies. I know you all liked soft Sakusa last time, but this is... not the one.
> 
> ALSO!!! Very important thing I forgot to mention last time. I have the most fantastic beta to ever exist and she deserves literally all of the love and wonderful things this world has to offer. Every fic I ever write will be in one way or another in dedication to [her](https://twitter.com/ttodomomo). Also my one true Tsumu, who enables me just as much as I enable her. Also to everyone else in the skts [redacted] home. I live for each and every one of you.

The first time it happens, Atsumu is sure it’s a mistake.

It’s a normal Thursday when practice is just finishing up. They have a match tomorrow, so the team has been keen to stay a little longer than usual to run through their serves as many times as they can before the day finishes out. 

Atsumu has been toying with a new spin to his already brutal serve, but it hasn’t necessarily been smooth sailing for him. Every time the ball actually goes the way he wants it to, it’s out of bounds. The other attempts end in the ball ricocheting in random directions, nearly smacking Inunaki in the teeth from his position on the sidelines before they decide to call it a day.

Typically, Atsumu wouldn’t let something like this phase him, as getting caught up in failure was never his strong suit. He pushes through until he perfects, and then slides headfirst into the next hurdle, easily and optimistically tackling everything that stands in his way.

The serves, unfortunately, were the least of his problems. It’d been a slow acclimation of little things that snowballed throughout his day, from fighting with Osamu the night before, to spilling his tea on his new shirt before practice, to flubbing a serve receive in the afternoon. The small things stacked on top of each other, building and expanding until Atsumu was feeling more like a live wire than a professional athlete.

His shower is spent seething, taking long enough with the hot spray to tame his emotional despair into something a little less turbulent and brittle.

By the time he exits the showers, Bokuto and Hinata are waving their goodbyes to Sakusa before promptly turning and leaving the locker room.

It’s not uncommon for Sakusa and Atsumu to be the last ones to leave for the day. It, in fact, happens more often than not. Sakusa is meticulous to a fault, which is great for his volleyball expertise, but not so great for all the hours Sakusa must waste enduring menial tasks.

What’s the point in taking a long shower after practice if you’re just going to go home and do it all over again as soon as you step foot through the door? Atsumu is sure it’s just his disgruntled and immature nature shining through his spectacularly awful day, but the thoughts come unbidden.

Atsumu sighs, shutting his locker in unison with the spiker behind him, causing him to turn and lock eyes with Sakusa. Atsumu wonders if it’s the lighting making his eyes look even inkier than usual, or if he’s just imagining things. He’s already wearing his mask, jacket zipped to the top and his gym bag slung over a broad shoulder.

“Are you feeling down, Miya?” Sakusa asks, interrupting the quiet with the inflection of someone who doesn’t actually care about the answer. But just as Atsumu opens his mouth to unload the events of his shitty day, Sakusa uncharacteristically interrupts to continue his line of thought. “Because I can feel you up, if you’d like.”

_ Huh? _

It’s such a foreign concept, so wildly outside the realm of any reality for Sakusa to be saying something like that to Atsumu, of all people. He spends so much of his brainpower focusing on the fact that Sakusa even has the words in his repertoire, that he almost forgets the comment is directed at him. 

By the time he registers this fact, Sakusa is leaving, like he hadn’t just spun Atsumu’s world on its head. Atsumu might shout out at him to return if he wasn’t too busy replaying the whole scene in his head to figure out where exactly he misunderstood.

He kept coming to the same conclusion, though.

Apathetic, cold, and unfeeling Kiyoomi just….  _ hit on him _ ? 

Really just did his damage and left.

He knows if he values his life in any capacity, he probably shouldn’t bring it up ever again. Besides, he had to have simply misunderstood. Right? That has to be why Sakusa fled the locker rooms so quickly, flustered at having misspoken.

But then it happens again.

Everyone is gone for the day except for Sakusa, changing behind Atsumu after one of his infamous extended showers. He can’t imagine the impact Sakusa must have on the facility’s water bill every month, but no one is yet to complain, and it isn’t like any of it affects Atsumu anyways.

Except that for today, it does. Sakusa’s lingering costs Atsumu his pride as he opens his locker to retrieve his bag from the clutches of all the other junk stored in there with it.

Not all of it is junk per say, he does include a spare change of clothes, as well as his shower caddie amongst old mail and other knickknacks he’s been meaning to clear out since midway through their season. But of course, those clothes aren’t vacuum sealed, nor do the loose papers find themselves in a neat stack, prompting a look of pure contempt to spread across Sakusa’s face as he approaches Atsumu.

“Your locker is disgusting, Miya. Were you raised on a fucking farm?” Sakusa sneers. Then he must see something on Atsumu’s face that makes him quirk an eyebrow and blow Atsumu’s mind once more. “Because you sure know how to raise a cock.”

Uh, okay.

Atsumu definitely does not misinterpret  _ anything _ from Sakusa’s words this time.

But now Atsumu is more confused than before because while Sakusa’s attempts at flirting are now a very real thing, it still just doesn’t make sense. It’s like trying to work a square block into a circle opening, no matter how many times Atsumu tries to piece it together, it won’t click.

And then he leaves.

Again.

And it happens.

Again.

This time, Atsumu is on his guard, avoiding being alone with him at all costs. It’s not that he dislikes it necessarily, but he’s beginning to think he must be hallucinating the whole thing and wants more than anything for a passerby, a teammate, a stranger,  _ anyone _ to validate that Sakusa’s actually _ hitting on him _ .

They’re in practice, working on their serve receives when Sakusa suddenly crooks a finger at him. Atsumu doesn’t think anything of it, since his last serve was admittedly rather brutal. In fact, he’s a little concerned that he may have injured Sakusa with the impact when the ball goes flying out of the court. Atsumu doesn’t have time to be smug about it, instead heading over to Sakusa’s side of the net.

Sakusa is hunched over, hands on his knees, and Atsumu wonders if he truly did injure him or if he’s just winded, but he offers no encouragement or niceties, keeping his fringe hanging low over his eyes.

When Atsumu finally steps up to his side, Sakusa leans into Atsumu’s personal space, a hand coming to rest on Atsumu’s shoulder and pulling him closer.

“If I could get you to come with one finger, imagine what I could do with all ten,” Sakusa whispers into Atsumu’s ear, rather seductively with the way his huff of breath echoes against the beat of Atsumu’s raging heart. Much to Atsumu’s horror, he continues, “Don’t think I don’t realize you’ve been avoiding me, Miya.”

And then he backs away out of Atsumu’s personal space, squaring his shoulders and turning to retrieve their wayward volleyball, leaving a baffled Atsumu in his wake.

Not only did Sakusa admit to his flirty antics, but he’s also caught on to Atsumu’s deflection. He supposes it isn’t hard to piece it together, but it surprises Atsumu nonetheless.

By the time Sakusa makes it back, Atsumu is finally functioning enough to ask, “Why?”

He feels like he’s not clarifying his question enough, but he can’t really be blamed for that, can he? Besides, whatever ‘why’ Sakusa chooses to answer will help divulge some semblance of knowledge. Which is a hell of a lot more than Atsumu has now.

But of course, his response takes him off guard once more.

“Because I can and it’s fun. It’s honestly absurd how easily you fluster. But it’s mostly because no one will ever believe you.” Then the motherfucker actually winks at him.  _ Winks _ . “If you don’t like it, tell me, and I’ll stop.”

But Atsumu, for some unknown reason, doesn’t want that either. So he closes his gaping mouth and retreats to his side of the net to continue practice as normally as he can manage, trying his damnedest to not stare holes in the side of Sakusa Kiyoomi’s head.

—x—

Weeks pass without incident and Atsumu feels comfortable enough being around Sakusa for him to attend their weekly lunch outing with Hinata. With his warmth and general positivity as a buffer, he’s sure none of the weird lingering sexual tension will rear its ugly head in the form of some off the wall pickup line and take him unawares. 

But then Hinata cancels at the last minute, cementing Atsumu’s string of rotten luck. They’re already sitting down at the restaurant when the text comes.

**Sunshine** ☀️ _ [12:07PM] _ :

_ Sorry, tsum tsum. Tobio surprised me by coming home early from his conference!!!! _

_ Can’t make it out today 🥺 _

_ Have fun without me!!! _

Well that’s just great, isn’t it? Hinata is bailing on him last minute, too late for Atsumu to ditch too, and he wants more than anything to be upset with the spiker over the unfortunate change in plans, but the emoji and the exclamation points remind him who is on the other side of the texts, so he decides to not take his frustrations out by returning a passive-aggressive message.

Atsumu locks his phone and reigns in his groan, but slumps against the table nonetheless, in normal bratty fashion. He doesn’t even have to say anything for Sakusa to get the gist.

“So Hinata isn’t coming.” It’s more of a statement than a question in the bored tone Sakusa speaks in, but Atsumu already feels a heat creeping up his neck. He picks up a menu to use as a shield from Sakusa’s inky gaze.

Logically, he knows that they’re in public, and the chances of Sakusa actually making a play are low. Foolishly, he feels somewhat safe, hoping the dinner rolls between them will serve as enough of a deterrent.

“I think I’m going to get the chicken,” Atsumu declares, finally braving the lowering of his menu, only to find Sakusa staring back at him with a raised brow.

“Cannibalism is frowned upon you know,” is his confusing response. Atsumu knows he’s being set up. Knows, and still can’t quite quell his curiosity, come what may.

“What’re you talking about, Omi Omi?” Atsumu asks, like the totally sane and sensible person that he is. He reaches for a roll if for nothing more than giving his hands something to do to keep him from fidgeting. He’s just taking a bite as Sakusa’s reply comes.

“Well, you must be a chicken, considering how bad I want to take a bite out of those thighs.” Sakusa doesn’t so much as twitch as the words leave his mouth. 

Atsumu chokes. 

_ Chokes. _

The unassuming dinner roll lodges itself in his windpipe as he sputters and reaches for his glass of water.

“Wow. That’s all it takes to make you choke, Miya?” He continues as though he hasn’t done enough damage already. “You’re in for a rude awakening because I have something much bigger to put in your mouth later.”

“O-omi,” Atsumu coughs, fisting a hand to his chest in hopes of dislodging the lump. “Yer killin’ me, here.”

Uncharacteristically, Sakusa chuckles, tucking his napkin into his lap before balancing his chin on a fist. The pinch in his brow is mysteriously absent, his expression almost leaning on the side of playful and Atsumu can’t tear his eyes away, even as he wheezes around a dinner roll.

“Tell me Miya, have you always flustered this easily?”

Atsumu clears his throat again around a gasping breath, reaching for his water and gulping down as much as he can before turning back to Sakusa.

So they are really talking about this here then, huh?

Well, Atsumu supposes it’s as good a time as any. 

It was very rare that they spent any time alone, other than the quiet end of practice where they are the last two left lingering in the locker rooms. It's entirely much too pleasant to see this side of the man, the soft way the sunlight streams in through big bay windows of the restaurant and brightens his otherwise dark features. The mask is nowhere in sight, probably tucked into the safety of Sakusa’s jacket pocket. It’s a little bizarre to be able to see the entirety of his face outside of practice, where Atsumu was too focused on the sport to take notice of much else, but appreciation unfolds in his chest like flowers that bloom under the sun's rays first thing in the morning.

It’s only when both his throat and his nerves settle that he finally responds, “‘s not even the flirtin’ Omi-Omi. Yer not nearly as smooth as ya think ya are.” Sakusa arches a brow as if to say  _ ‘oh really?’ _ but Atsumu continues as though he doesn’t notice. “It’s the fact that the words are comin’ from  _ ya _ .”

“And why exactly is that so strange for you?”

Atsumu takes a moment to consider his response carefully, fully aware of the strain he could put on their precarious work relationship. Both he and Sakusa were guilty of letting their stubbornness and contempt get the best of them, and while that didn’t usually run over into their professional life, aside from the occasional spike to the face, this is uncharted territory, and Atsumu isn’t willing to put their steady dynamic at risk.

“‘S just that… yer so damn prickly most of the time. Ya hate casual conversations and yer not really one to speak unless it’s important, yer tearing someone a new asshole, or yer pokin’ fun. I just think it’s weird.”

“Not someone, Miya. It’s always  _ you _ that I’m mocking,” Sakusa explains as though it adds any sort of clarity.

“Ya just made my point,” Atsumu huffs, taking another swig of his water before continuing. “Yer always so mean to me and I dunno why after all these years ya’ve decided to latch onto this as yer new method of torture.”

“Hmm,” Sakusa hums, casting his glance sideways at the windows lining the walls. Atsumu doesn’t know if it’s the sunlight reflecting off of the patterned menu or if it’s another rare display of vulnerability, but a tinge of pink creeps around Sakusa’s cheekbones.

“Yer weird, Omi.” Atsumu smirks, slumping a little in his seat. There’s a brief flash of some unnamed emotion crossing Sakusa’s expression but it’s too fleeting for Atsumu to catch before the blank look takes its vacancy. “But I think I like this side of ya.”

Sakusa has no response, opting to keep his mouth shut, though Atsumu swears he can see a hint of that soft smile playing on his lips again.

The rest of the meal goes by without incident.

—x—

At this point, Atsumu has had enough. It’s been weeks of this treatment and he can’t get a single soul in the same room when these encounters take place to validate the alarmingly arousing trauma of being the target of Sakusa’s relentless flirting.

He honestly doesn’t even know what to think anymore. If anything, the frequency in which these occasions happen only increases as the weeks pass by, and Atsumu thinks he might go absolutely crazy if someone doesn’t affirm the reality of his situation.

But the final straw comes in the form of stretching. It’s the beginning of practice on a totally normal Tuesday afternoon, when they split off in their usual groups to warm up before getting started. 

“I need help, Atsumu,” Sakusa calls out from his spot on the floor, arms reaching out for his toes. His lithe and bendy body is definitely gross and doesn’t lead to any thoughts of how that flexibility might carry over into other activities. 

Or so Atsumu tries to convince himself. 

It's with a totally deadpan expression that Sakusa clarifies, “Can you stretch me out?”

Atsumu almost trips over his own feet on his way over, whipping his head back and forth to observe their teammates for any indication that someone else heard the double entendre, but to no avail. Either they didn’t hear it, or think nothing of Sakusa’s seemingly innocent comment.

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Atsumu replies hesitantly, grumbling under his breath as he closes the distance between them. He doesn’t think Sakusa will say anything too immoral with the eyes and ear of the whole gym in their vicinity, but there’s the whole restaurant incident playing in the back of his mind and he knows he can’t be too careful.

When Atsumu is finally beside him, Sakusa lays back on the floor, one long leg extended as far as it will go, the other raised in the air between them, bent at the knee. His eyebrow ticks up expectantly, but Atsumu can’t function when Sakusa is looking at him like  _ that _ from his suggestive position.

“Well,” Sakusa beckons, lifting his knee a little closer to his chest, his gym shorts stretching precariously around his ass. “Are you going to help or not?”

Atsumu blushes, afraid to speak for how squeaky and strained his voice will probably carry. Without any words of affirmation, he squats down beside him and uses his weight to tuck Sakusa’s knee in tighter. While Atsumu refuses to so much as look in the general direction of his face, he can feel Sakusa’s own eyes boring into him.

“What’s the matter, Atsumu?” Sakusa’s tone is dangerously low, the grit mingled with Atsumu’s given name on his tongue makes for a heady intoxicant, but he manages to hold strong. “You look a little flustered. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, don’t gimme that, Omi,” Atsumu snaps, finally meeting Sakusa’s gaze, only to find him smirking. “Ya know exactly what yer doing.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Sakusa hums, pleading ignorance. “Does exercise always get you this worked up?”

Atsumu doesn’t answer, too transfixed in the way Sakusa’s lips curve around the words to bother interpreting his set up.

“Are you that into fitness?” Sakusa asks and they're close enough that Atsumu can feel his breath fanning across his face. And then in a voice so low, it’s almost a whisper, Sakusa says, “How about fitness dick in your mouth?”

Atsumu’s grip on Sakusa’s leg slips, as he fumbles and falls face-first into Sakusa’s chest, his dick stirring in his gym shorts at Sakusa’s lewd commentary. When his soul finally comes back into contact with his body, there’s the soft feeling of cotton tickling his cheek. He knows he shouldn’t linger, shouldn't stay pressed so close Sakusa’s body heat where anyone can see and mistake their position for something that it’s not, but can’t quite help chasing after the physical affection after being subjected to Sakusa’s antics for so long.

“Jesus, Miya,” Sakusa finally says, so close that Atsumu can  _ feel _ the rumble of Sakusa’s chest as he speaks. “You have more mass than a church on Sunday.”

Atsumu sits up immediately, his face hot and full of shame as he picks himself off the floor. There’s a faint smudge of drool on the white cotton of Sakusa’s shirt, proof of his embarrassing nature and unfortunate tumble. The groan that tumbles from his throat is both loud and petulant as he covers his face with both hands.

When Atsumu is brave enough to face the repercussions, hands falling slack at his sides, he thinks to check for his teammates, or for anyone really, who might have heard the filth spewing from Sakusa’s otherwise pristine mouth, and thinks for a moment  _ aha! I finally got you bastard!  _ Because all their teammates are looking at them with equal parts shock and concern.

“Are you alright?” Thomas asks, eyes wide as he’s stuck frozen in mid-stretch.

“Yeah, ‘m fine,'' Atsumu grins smugly, looking down at Sakusa’s still sprawled out form on the floor below. Sakusa’s expression radiates a calm that Atsumu doesn’t think should qualify for the situation.

He’s been caught. Shouldn’t he be more upset?

“Why were you whining then?” Thomas follows up, body loosening as he switches into his next stretch.

Atsumu takes a moment to really check his surroundings, only to discover it’s only Atsumu that his fellow teammates' eyes are on, studying him as though he is liable to do something especially volatile.

And he just fucking might.

Rage, unparalleled to his many bouts of petulance, begins rising up in his chest to replace the dawning horror.

“Ya gotta be kiddin’ me!” Atsumu bellows, throwing his arms in the air. “Ya mean to tell me that none of you heard that?!” he asks incredulously, his tone peaking higher and higher the longer he continues speaking.

“I mean…” Bokuto chimes in, “We heard your groan. It was louder than your usual fits, so we thought something might be wrong…”

In his fit of rage, Atsumu can’t help the words that fire out. “Omi-kun here, has been usin’ his weird pick up lines on me for a month now!” The words, at least, seem to affect Sakusa in that his smug smirk disperses into a flat press of his lips. “He’s been doin’ it when no one’s around and I can’t  _ take it _ anymore.”

His teammates all carry the same wide-eyed, slack-jawed expressions, studying Atsumu as though he’s grown another head. Atsumu is aware of how ridiculous and bratty he sounds, but he would like to believe that his team knows him well enough to know that it is some type of veracity to his words.

And then at once, it’s like a storm cloud breaks. It starts with Hinata giggling from halfway across the court, spurring Bokuto to do the same, until everyone around him is laughing. Atsumu is moments away from having a full-on meltdown, clenching his fits and struggling with the urge to stomp his feet.

He instead turns, face heated enough that he just knows his team will never let this particular outburst go. Atsumu will be reliving this moment for the rest of his life, suspended in the torture of how idiotic he looks, despite the truth of his accusations. He takes one fleeting look at Sakusa’s face, almost panic-stricken, undoubtedly at the fear of being discovered, before Bokuto stutters out a “J _ ust imagine- Sakusa-san hitting on Tsum Tsum,? _ in between guffaws and Atsumu can no longer handle the ridicule.

He puffs out a breath and turns on his heel, walking back to where the bleachers are pushed into the wall. When he sits, he plops down so hard that he knows he’ll regret it, come later on in practice, but he doesn’t have the capacity in the moment to care.

Atsumu releases a deep breath, willing the tension out of his body on the exhale. He won’t have long before the whistle blows its summons and he’ll have to pull himself together for the sake of the team and their upcoming match, but he needs to decompress first and foremost so that he doesn’t accidentally take one of them out with the force he plans on putting behind his serves.

Atsumu rests his forearms on bent knees, cradling his head between them. The moment replays on a humiliating and endless loop in his head, until it blurs, Sakusa’s dispassionate voice offering propositions that will never see the light of day.

He probably wouldn’t care at all, might not be phased by Sakusa’s torment were he not so untouchable, but as things are, Atsumu is tired of such provocative lines being thrown in his face with no outlet for the heat that rises with every word uttered.

Atsumu’s fists clench in his hair when he feels a looming presence at his side, but he refuses to meet Sakusa’s stare, opting to keep his head between his knees. He watches from the corner of his eye as Sakusa sinks down next to him. Neither of them speaks for what seems like hours but may only be seconds. Still, Atsumu finds that most of his rage and embarrassment from earlier has subsided before any words are exchanged.

“Hate to say I told you so,” Sakusa finally breaks the silence, and Atsumu doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream at the timing of his words. 

“Why?” he asks instead.

“Why do you think, Atsumu?” Sakusa wastes no time in his response and Atsumu’s breath hitches a little in his throat as his first name leaves Sakusa’s lips in a rare fashion. He marvels at the way his heart stutters in his chest for a moment before he remembers that Sakusa is expecting a response to a possible life-altering question.

Atsumu considers his response carefully.

He’s contemplated the merits of setting aside their hostility for long enough to see what lies beneath the layers of pointed words and razor-sharp edges. There were moments in the past where Atsumu had caught what appeared to be longing in the dark gaze next to him, moments where a mutual truce fell into place for the sake of a team outing, the brief respite a warm welcome to their typically mutual cold behavior that lead Atsumu to question the nature of their relationship and why they felt the need to be at one another’s throat whenever the other was in the vicinity. All of those occasions, however, were too fleeting for Atsumu to find too much depth in them, so he never gave it enough consideration until Sakusa had subjected him to this nonsense.

So, on the one hand, he could say what he thinks is Sakusa’s true reasoning behind this whole thing, which is that he might want to bone the living daylights out of Atsumu and doesn’t know how to broach the subject, other than reducing him to a flustered mess of a man that can’t form functional sentences if his life depended on it.

On the other hand, what if Sakusa is actually just having a joke at his expense and Atsumu openly admits where his mind is? Wouldn’t that just be playing right into his hands? But if he is to say he thinks it's all a gag, he might be risking a once in a lifetime opportunity of seeing Sakusa Kiyoomi naked and wanting, satiating a vague curiosity that had begun lingering since his very first line directed at Atsumu.

Fuck. Atsumu needs three to five business days to be able to wrap his head around a response.

Luckily, he is saved from having to say anything at all as Meian approaches them, a hand raised, the action falling somewhere between a wave and someone approaching a wounded animal. 

“Hey, you guys okay?” Meian asks with genuine concern in his tone. “That was uh… well, yeah.”

“Don’t worry, captain,” Atsumu reassures. “It was just a ploy for Omi’s attention. We’re solid.” Atsumu is selfishly pleased that his voice doesn’t waver, what with the whiplash his emotions he’s been subjected to, now only a few minutes into practice.

“Are you sure?”

“What's with the concern?” Sakusa is the one to ask this time, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“We just have a big game coming up. You’re both assets and you work well in tandem, I’d hate to see us lose over a misunderstanding.”

Sakusa nods. Atsumu still doesn’t raise his face from between his knees, his newfound sanctuary in a sea of uncertainty. 

“Just… make sure whatever this is doesn’t mess with your chemistry on the court,” Meian finishes, and Atsumu almost sighs in relief when he hears the sounds of his retreating footsteps.

The reprieve doesn’t last long.

“I don’t think I’d be down for any tandem play, but I do wonder if that same chemistry would carry over to the bedroom,” Sakusa says as he stands and brushes himself off, scrunching his nose at the ground as though just now realizing he was sitting on the court floor. “Whenever you want to find out, just let me know, Miya.”

“Why?” Atsumu asks again, this time with a little more determination. Sakusa halts his retreats and turns to face Atsumu with a furrowed brow. He intentionally left his question open to interpretation this time, burning to know which ‘why’ Sakusa would deem the most important.

As fucking stubborn as always though, Sakusa says, “That’s for me to know and for you to figure out.”

Then he’s turning on his heel and leaving again, Atsumu more confused than he was before this day began. Is this just his life now? Forever subject to Sakusa’s surprising finesse with no one else ever the wiser? He isn’t going to make it.

Sakusa stops when he’s only a few steps away, halting his wayward thoughts in their tracks. Atsumu stares at his back as though it might contain the answers to this mess he’s somehow gotten himself into.

“Figure it the fuck out, Atsumu,” Sakusa throws over his shoulder, and then softer, “I’ll be waiting,” and though Atsumu can’t see his whole face, he thinks he might see the telltale signs of a blush peaking out on the tips of Sakusa’s ear before he leaves the gym.

Atsumu watches his retreating form until he is out of sight completely.

—x—

Atsumu is having yet another spectacularly terrible day. He had stayed up well past the acceptable time for sleep the night before, in an attempt to study up on a particularly nasty server from the EJP Raijin, with whom they have a match against at the end of the week, resulting in multiple imperfect sets, and flubbing serve after serve in practice.

And that’s not even to mention Osamu’s bitching in his ear for over an hour about how he never comes home to visit and therefore, he’s the one stuck keeping their mother company on the days where empty nest syndrome hits her hardest. He shouldn’t let Osamu’s petty woes affect him, but the guilt has been slowly chipping away at his overall morale throughout the day, completely spent and on edge.

Needless to say, Atsumu is ready to pass out in his bed the moment he steps foot into his room, but first, he’ll have to make it there.

“How do you do it, Omi?” Atsumu begins, tying his laces with a foot propped up on the bench, “How do ya stay in perfect health? Get eight hours of sleep every night? Eat three meals? Practice? Carve time out for family?” Atsumu pants, hands fisted in his hair with a temper tantrum well on its way to rearing its ugly head.

“Well, I’m just on top of things,” Sakusa finally responds vaguely, brushing the nonexistent dust from his jacket. Atsumu is so distracted by a soft smile blooming on Sakusa's face that he almost misses the follow up of, “How would you like to be one of them?”

And Atsumu actually feels himself wanting to smile for the first time all day.

“Are you alright?” Sakusa asks seriously, but still won’t look over at him. It's asinine, honestly, how the man can look him right in the eye and say some of the most suggestive comments Atsumu has ever heard, but the moment any kind of emotions sneak their way into the conversation, Sakusa freezes up and can never seem to meet his eye.

“Yeah, Omi Omi. I think I’m gonna be just fine.”

Then Sakusa does the most surprising thing to date. He grabs Atsumu’s chin between a finger and his thumb, leans down, and kisses Atsumu’s brow before departing the locker room altogether, and once again turning Atsumu inside-out in the process.

And when Atsumu touches himself that night to the ghost of Sakusa’s fingertips on his skin, he realizes just how truly fucked he really is.

—x—

It’s a seemingly normal Tuesday until Sakusa steps out of the shower area, fully dressed and pointedly staring at Atsumu’s crotch as he throws a shirt over his head. Try as he may to ignore Sakusa’s burning stare, Atsumu only has so much self-control.

“What are ya doing, Omi?” he asks, a little breathless, and it’s only after a few more moments of Sakusa’s stare burning a hole in the center of Atsumu’s gym shorts that he levels his gaze.

“Are you going to eat that?” he says, motioning to the spot his eyes have previously vacated.

“Omi Omi! Oh my god!”

“What? You know I hate letting things go to waste and that semi you’re always sporting when we have these little talks has been neglected several times now.”

“Omi!” Atsumu pleads, face going red as he fights the urge to cover it.

“Is that all you can say, Miya? ‘Cause I’ll give you a reason to scream my name over and over if you’d like.”

Atsumu opens his mouth to say his name again, but closes it after reconsidering. His face is hot enough to put the sun to shame and the thick tension in the air isn’t doing him any favors. Sakusa only stares with that stern gaze of his boring into Atsumu, who squirms under his particular brand of scrutiny.

If he’s being honest with himself, yes, prior to any of this alternate reality he seems to have stepped into, Atsumu had considered what Sakusa might be like in bed, how he acts in a relationship, but the idea seemed so absurd, so far out of Atsumu’s reach that he never allowed himself to linger on it for longer than a passing thought.

But now all of those questions are resurfacing with a weight that’s so crushing he wants to scream. Never in his most far fetched musings did Sakusa Kiyoomi blatantly proposition him so relentlessly. Yes, he’s blunt and yes, he’s vocal about what he wants, but carrying it over into a sexual nature never occurred to Atsumu.

“I… uh.” Atsumu tries to tame the influx of emotions he’s undergoing in order to voice his thoughts. Clearing his throat, he continues, “Why are ya doin’ this? Why do ya keep playing with me?”

Sakusa rolls his eyes, arms crossed over his chest, utterly unimpressed.

“Let me make myself really clear, since you can’t seem to read between the lines to save your life,” Sakusa begins with a steady determination in his eyes that makes Atsumu a little breathless. “I want you, Miya.”

His heart stops.

The world stops.

Everything ceases movement and it’s all Atsumu can do to not embarrass himself further by collapsing on the spot. 

He’s had inklings of this, knew it to be a possibility, and still, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. The baited silence around them pulsed, weighing heavier with every moment they maintained eye contact.

But then Sakusa is moving again, he’s taking slow yet deliberate strides to close the gap between them, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt, before he braves removing the fabric altogether.

When he stops just short of Atsumu, his torso is fully exposed in a way that he’s never seen and Atsumu can’t help but gape at the constellation of moles littering his body. If he were brave enough, he might reach out to connect the dots in a morbid fascination, but Atsumu is a coward, and even with Sakusa in his face and telling him he wants just that, he can’t seem to move.

“Me?” he squeaks out, a finger pointed at himself as if there could be anyone else. Sakusa’s expression says as much as he gestures vaguely to the otherwise empty room.

Sakusa breathes a long-suffering sigh, planting a hand on the locker behind Atsumu’s head. He doesn’t realize he’s backed himself into a corner until he feels the cold press of the lockers at his back.

Atsumu knew he was fucked from the first time Sakusa had made any sort of suggestive commentary, but having him so close and in his space is a whole new kind of torture. Atsumu fixates on the line Sakusa’s lips are pressed into, wondering what Sakusa might do if he were to reach out and trace them.

He used to think Sakusa would look at him in disgust, swatting him out of the way with a familiar crinkle to his nose.

Now he’s not so sure that’s the case.

It’s confirmed a moment later when Sakusa’s free hand comes up to grip Atsumu’s jaw, pointer and thumb pressing into the skin, his middle tucked beneath Atsumu’s chin to claim the entirety of his attention. For a brief moment, Atsumu allows himself to get lost in the depths of Sakusa’s inky gaze, transfixed in a void he wonders how he ever had the audacity to avoid.

Sakusa pointedly raises a brow, granting Atsumu the opportunity to object if he so pleases. Instead of answering, Atsumu closes the distance by crashing their lips together.

It isn’t gentle or hesitant like Atsumu thought it might be, the barely-there grazing of soft lips and deep-seeded desires. No, just as everything else Atsumu was beginning to learn about Sakusa, it is equal parts brute force and careful intensity. It makes his head spin.

Sakusa’s hand begins exploring Atsumu’s hair as he opens for him, tongue running along the seam of Atsumu’s lips before pushing into his mouth. A little woozy, Atsumu carefully plants his hands at Sakusa’s waist to ground himself to this moment and keep his mind from exploring all the possibilities this shift in their relationship can bring about. 

“I want you to fuck me, Atsumu,” Sakusa says when they part as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

And fuck, it might be, but Atsumu needs a moment to reboot his brain because he figured this thing between them would eventually come to a head, but never in any of his imagined scenarios did Sakusa Kiyoomi ever utter anything remotely close to the words that just came out of his mouth.

Atsumu feels woefully unprepared, and inexcusably so. He’s had ample time to arrange some kind of tolerance to Sakusa’s indecent antics, and yet it continues to take him by surprise every time.

“If you don’t want this, tell me,” Sakusa says when Atsumu takes too long to sort through his thoughts and muster a response.

And it’s apparently a warning, because before Atsumu can even mouth the word ‘what’ Sakusa is on his knees, pulling on the waistband of Atsumu’s gym shorts as he goes.

“Om- Omi-kun!” Atsumu gasps, eyes wide and his face set aflame as he grapples to stop Sakusa’s hands from pulling the fabric any further.

Sakusa looks up at Atsumu from between his legs, shorts inched down to his mid-thigh, though his underwear had blessedly missed Sakusa’s initial grip. The view is obscene and it’s honestly fucking stupid how much it affects him, how downright sinful Sakusa looks kneeling on the locker room floor.

The image won’t even compute in his brain and there’s the constant wonder of ‘why is he doing that? The floor has to be disgusting,’ lingering in the back of his head.

Sakusa clears his throat, pulling Atsumu back into the equation with a vexed expression.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you want this, yes?” Atsumu can’t find it within himself to verbalize a response, nodding instead. “I also want this... so what exactly is the issue here?”

“Is nothin’ sacred to ya, Omi?” Atsumu groans, throwing an arm over his eyes, but makes no move to get Sakusa up from the ground. “Do you really wanna fuck right here on the dirty floor?”

“Who said anything about the floor?” Sakusa smirks and Atsumu just fucking  _ knows _ he’s screwed with the dangerous glint in his eyes that only promises a reckoning.

Did Sakusa… plan this out? His tone and subtle confidence make Atsumu feel totally blindsided.

With even less warning this time, Sakusa hooks his thumb in the elastic of Atsumu’s briefs and pulls them level with his shorts in one smooth motion, his half-hard erection springing free, but it offers Atsumu very little relief. He swallows the nervous lump in his throat.

“Such a pretty cock,” Sakusa says and Atsumu might think he was teasing, if not for his tongue poking out and skimming over the seam of his lips. “So big too.”

And then, all at once, Sakusa is taking him into his mouth, running the flat of his tongue on the underside of his dick, and Atsumu doesn’t really think he can be blamed for the weird yelp-turned-moan that fumbles out. Atsumu braves a peek at Sakusa, only to find him blinking owlishly back at him, as he takes Atsumu in a little further.

“Fuck,” Atsumu groans before rolling his hips, succumbing to the tempting wet heat. “Yer a menace, ya know that? Yer a fuckin’...” A pause in which Atsumu tries and fails to find the words to accurately describe the hell Sakusa has been putting him through over the last month.

Sakusa pulls off of him again in enough time to say, “Don’t think too hard with that big brain, you might hurt yourself, Miya.” And then he’s back to slowly sliding Atsumu back into the warm refuge of his mouth.

“Fuck you, asshole. Kinda hard to think with my dick in your— _ ahh _ , shit,” Atsumu stutters when Sakusa is back to lingering at the tip, tongue swirling over the head.

Sakusa hums, the sound vibrating against his cock and sending more heat into his already raging core. Atsumu is immediately disoriented. Prickly and aloof, Sakusa Kiyoomi apparently doesn’t mind making a mess when it comes to things of a sexual nature. For someone so frigid and hateful at times, Atsumu can’t help but marvel at the inviting heat that envelopes him.

All the fight leaves his body as the point of Sakusa’s canine ghosts over the increasingly sensitive flesh. His back arches before slamming back against the lockers, the clang ringing in the room in time with his ragged breathing, and Sakusa takes him to the hilt.

Sakusa hollows his cheeks and Atsumu feels his soul leave his body when the tip of his dick hits the back of Sakusa’s throat. His continence falls off of him in waves, layer by layer peeling back and dismantling any hesitation he feels regarding face fucking a teammate in the locker rooms.

Atsumu breathes fast and hard, body tightening as Sakusa works him with his mouth. There’s a warm pressure at his balls and when he finally has the sense of mind to check, he finds Sakusa hand wrapped around them, tightening and loosening his grip in tandem.

It’s when Sakusa pulls his mouth off fully and starts lavishing the end of his cock in kitten licks that the last tether of his self-control snaps. Atsumu fists both of his hands in Sakusa’s hair, pulling at the ends enough that Sakusa is forced to meet his eyes. They’re dark, ominous in a way that Atsumu has never seen before, but then Sakusa’s breath hitches in his throat and it dawns on Atsumu that perhaps Sakusa wants him to be a little aggressive, having used the same methods to get them here in the first place.

“Open,” Atsumu demands, a test of sorts to see if his suspicions ring true.

Sakusa complies eagerly, licking his lips before opening his mouth, tongue flattened and hanging slightly.

_ Fuck. _

Okay, then.

Atsumu only hesitates for a moment longer, committing the image to memory before slamming his cock into Sakusa’s open and waiting mouth. His grip on Sakusa’s hair loosens, his entire body relaxing as the wet friction and heat surrounds him again. Atsumu cants his hips, pushing in as far as he can go until Sakusa gags around his length.

“Fuck, baby. Y’ look s’ pretty with yer mouth around my cock,” Atsumu pants mindlessly, hands moving to the back of Sakusa’s head to pull him off before ramming back in. He can’t imagine Sakusa is able to understand his words with the way they garble together, but as always Sakusa has to prove him wrong at every turn. His words must encourage him, because soon enough Sakusa’s humming around his cock and flattening his tongue as Atsumu shoves himself in and out of his mouth. “Feels s’ good. Hot and wet for me, aren’t ya?”

Sakusa nods, or what Atsumu thinks must be a nod, his enthusiasm as much an intoxicant as the drool rolling from the side of his mouth. Atsumu offers no reprieve, thrusting into him even as he pushes Sakusa on to him. Tears gather at the corners of Sakusa’s eyes without falling, his lashes wet and for all the world, looking utterly wrecked.

It’s fucking obscene and Atsumu wants to lose himself entirely to the ecstasy that is Sakusa Kiyoomi’s mouth, his release building hotter and tighter, coiling low in his gut. It’s Sakusa’s hands on his thighs tightening in warning that pulls him back down.

Atsumu drags himself out of Sakusa’s mouth with a groan, a string of saliva running from the tip of his dick to Sakusa’s swollen lips. 

“For the love of god,” Sakusa says between panted breaths. Atsumu has no idea what’s on the other side of the sentence, but he sure as hell doesn’t expect it to be, “Take off your shirt.” 

Atsumu’s movements are harsh and jerky in his bewilderment but he obeys. He grabs his shirt at the hem and pulls it over his shoulders before stepping out of his shorts and discarding it all to the side. Sakusa drinks in the sight of Atsumu’s toned body like a man possessed from his spot, still kneeling on the floor next to him.

Admittedly, standing stark naked in the middle of the locker room where anyone can walk in on them and deduce exactly what they’re up to isn’t Atsumu’s brightest idea, but his self-preservation has vacated the building, morals and sanity quickly following in its footsteps.

The tension stretches, kindling for the flame that burns between them, and then Sakusa is up and on him. Atsumu takes the brunt of his weight before strong arms are wrapping around his torso as he slots their lips together. It’s different from their first kiss. Soft, warm, and breathless, where the other was too frenzied to be fueled by anything but lust. 

Sakusa draws back, breaking their contact only to snake a hand in one of Atsumu’s, before leading him to a bench in between the rows of lockers lining the walls. The benches are usually reserved for a place to sit while taking a beat before hopping in the shower or changing out their shoes, not something so improper as what Sakusa probably has planned. He almost feels guilty for corrupting the sanctuary that belongs to all of them as a whole, especially seeing as he’ll never be able to look at it with the same eyes again.

Atsumu finds he no longer cares when Sakusa is pushing him down onto the wooden seat, before climbing up to straddle Atsumu’s hips. From this position, Sakusa towers above him, his eyes shining and dark in the dim fluorescents. 

Sakusa spreads his knees further apart until Atsumu’s bare cock rests in the line that separates Sakusa’s ass cheeks. Though Sakusa’s gym shorts remain, Atsumu’s cock still twitches into the fabric. Sakusa’s hands come up to rest at his throat, thumbs pressing into his jaw until Atsumu has to meet his eyes again.

Then Sakusa’s mouth is back on him as he grinds his hips down onto Atsumu’s lap. Atsumu has to hold the seat of the bench to keep their weight from shifting enough that they go toppling over, but manages to grip Sakusa’s waist with his free hand as he rocks.

Sakusa moans into his mouth, the sound going straight to Atsumu’s throbbing cock as Sakusa’s wicked tongue slips in. He hopes Sakusa has brought a spare change of clothes because he’s sure his current shorts will be stained with the copious amount of pre-come leaking from his weeping cock.

Atsumu jumps when a sharp sound interrupts their heavy breathing, almost tossing Sakusa off of him before wrapping an arm around his shoulder to grip him close to his chest. When checking the room for any prying eyes, Atsumu comes up fruitless; they remain totally alone.

Sakusa chuckles, the sound muffled by the skin from Atsumu’s shoulder where his face now rests. Atsumu has no idea what the fuck is happening but loosens his hold on Sakusa anyway. He sits back up on his knees before hopping off of Atsumu’s lap altogether, leaving him to shiver from the loss of body heat, hyper-aware of his nudity.

Sakusa slips his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, sliding them off his long limbs in one fluid motion until they pool on the floor at his ankles. Atsumu tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. His mouth goes dry as Sakusa kicks his shorts to the side and bends over to retrieve the fallen item. Atsumu sucks a breath in through his teeth when Sakusa’s ass hovers midair for just a moment too long before he straightens.

Before Atsumu can muster the grace to compose himself, Sakusa peeks over his shoulder in just enough time to catch Atsumu’s hooded stare and slack jaw, a smirk twisting his lips.

Ah, so it’s deliberate.

Atsumu opens his mouth to make some snide, scathing comment, but Sakusa turns back around before he can, his long pale legs closing the distance between them in one stride. He tosses the item from his hands in Atsumu’s direction and it’s only a lifetime of relying on his reflexes that allows him to yank it out of the air without fumbling.

Before Atsumu even has the mental capacity to check his palm for the identity of its contents, Sakusa is on him again. This time, however, he snakes over Atsumu’s lap, torso hovering over his thighs as he leans his balance on his bent elbows and knees, ass hiked in the air once more.

_ Fuck. _

“What the fuck, Omi?” Atsumu hisses, his palm twitching with the need to run it over Sakusa’s bare body where it lies above his lap.

“You have to get me ready for your cock, Atsumu,” Sakusa says, breathy and low.

“Y-yeah,” Atsumu stutters, finally checking his hand only to find a small bottle of lube in his palm. He wants to be surprised, but after everything Sakusa has put him through thus far, he finds only enticement. “Where didya even get this?”

“My pocket,” Sakusa responds simply, rocking his ass a bit where it hangs in the air. “Come on, I think you’ve made me wait long enough. Want you inside me.”

Atsumu doesn’t respond, eyes fixed firmly on his cheeks and trying his damndest to not nut on the spot at the sight. Once he can manage it without having a nervous breakdown, Atsumu slips a finger in and his eyes widen at how little resistance he’s met with.

Huh?

“I…” Sakusa begins, sensing Atsumu’s hesitation. A harsh breath is whistled through his teeth, eyes falling shut as his hole clenches around Atsumu’s finger. “Use two fingers, I already started in the shower.”

Atsumu’s breath hitches in his throat, but he complies, sliding a second digit in. The fit is certainly more snug this time, but still, Atsumu’s fingers are shorter and wider than Sakusa’s own, which leads to the question of how many fingers he used on himself earlier.

And why exactly, was he fingering himself in the locker room showers?

Atsumu is a little too preoccupied to give much thought into an answer or voicing the question in the first place, but it only adds to his suspicions of Sakusa planning this out ahead of time. This piece of evidence, while especially damning, offers no absolute affirmatives, as apparently, Sakusa is the freakiest motherfucker he knows, and Atsumu won’t put anything past him. Still, he can’t help but think the whole ordeal was more of a surprise attack than a turning point.

He works a third finger into Sakusa’s hole, much tighter than before, and he can only imagine what that tightness will feel like around his length. Atsumu curls his fingers where they rest inside him, giving Sakusa a moment to adjust as the tension in his shoulders bunch with the additional width. Sakusa’s teeth sink into his bottom lip as he begins to rock backwards, chasing the friction. Atsumu complies eagerly, twisting his fingers as he pulls out before pushing back in with more gusto.

“Ya like that, Omi? Like the way I fuck you with my fingers?” Atsumu mumbles into the skin of Sakusa’s shoulder blade right as his back arches, stomach pressing into Atsumu’s groin. “Wait until it’s my fat cock inside ya. Yer really gonna like that.”

Sakusa groans, lifting his ass a little higher in the air as Atsumu pumps his fingers mercilessly, a squelching sound permeating the already heated air around them. Atsumu dazedly runs his free hand down Sakusa’s bare back as he works, marveling at how soft Sakusa is all over. It would make sense with his unmatched need for perfection when it comes to hygiene and cleanliness, but Atsumu never expected it from the man with such a hard exterior.

“ _ Ah _ \- okay,” Sakusa breathes, pulling Atsumu from his musings, “I think I’m ready.”

“Oh, ya do, huh?” Atsumu prods, dragging his fingers all the way out for a moment before slamming them back in, pulling a moan from somewhere deep in the other man’s chest. “If ya say so.”

Satisfied, Atsumu pulls out completely, running a hand up his ass, only to smack it lightly, watching as the skin jiggles a little under his palm. Sakusa glares at him from over his shoulder before rising up to his knees where they balance on the bench beside Atsumu’s thigh.

“You’re going to regret that,” Sakusa warns, face etched in a haughty display of dominance. “Now, be a good boy and lie down so I can come on your cock.”

_ What the fuck? _

Atsumu doesn’t understand why the words, demanding as they are, make his dick stir in interest, or why the hell his dispassionate tone stokes the fire roiling in his gut, but he’s certainly not complaining.

“Okay,” he breathes.

Sakusa’s smirk is a wicked thing. It sends another pang through his cock.

Atsumu scoots down and away from Sakusa before putting his feet up on the bench and laying flat on his back. He feels especially vulnerable in this position and has to tamp down on the urge to cover himself because Sakusa is looking at him with that sinister stare directed right at his cock where it stands to attention. Sakusa wastes no time, standing beside the bench before coming up to Atsumu’s prone form and pumps his cock a few times in his hand.

“Oh god,” Atsumu mutters, the grip around his sensitive cock tightening as the words fall unwillingly from his lips, his hips cantering off the seat for a split second before falling back down on the hardwood. 

Atsumu has no fucking clue where it comes from, but Sakusa produces a foil square from thin air and tears off a corner with his teeth. His grip slides down at the base of Atsumu’s cock as the other hand rolls the condom over the head and down the shaft, until he’s enveloped in the press of latex.

But then Sakusa’s hand falls away and Atsumu is choking back a whine at the loss of contact, a restless feeling unfurling in his chest. Sakusa hoists a leg on the other side of the bench and Atsumu feels like his skin might split apart as he lies between Sakusa’s limbs. And it isn’t until Sakusa is straddling him, ass hovering right above the point of impact, as Atsumu lies flat on the bench that he remembers his earlier words.

_ Who said anything about the floor? _

Atsumu thinks he might be safe to say his assumptions of Sakusa planning this attack ahead of time are actually correct and he can’t help but wonder just how thoroughly he did so. It felt like eons ago that Sakusa Kiyoomi had his cock in his mouth, and his comment was made even before that was well underway. It was, unfortunately, in line with everything else that makes up the shocking way his mind truly works, calculating even in matters of sex.

Without so much as a word of warning, Sakusa pushes his weight down against him, Atsumu’s cock sliding home in one go, so fast that he would have doubled over had it not been for Sakusa’s fists on his chest, pinning him down to the bench.

Atsumu’s brain short circuits at the tight heat that surrounds him, tipping his head back and moaning when Sakusa rises back up again before sinking back down slowly. His weight is the only thing tethering Atsumu to this reality, containing his soul to his body instead of careening off into nether space.

The slick pressure around him rises and falls, Atsumu’s mouth hanging open as he studies the way Sakusa’s core flexes with his movements.  _ He’s beautiful _ , Atsumu thinks, it’s as distracting as it is enticing. He wants to tell Sakusa how good he feels but refuses to speak for fear of admitting to his especially soft thoughts in the middle of the hottest sex of his life. A whimper spills from his throat with all the repressed words on his tongue.

“Oh, shhh. I’ll take care of you, Tsumu.” Sakusa’s voice is now tender where all the sharp edges and pointed words usually hover, the nickname sending a shock skittering over Atsumu’s bones. He melts further into the bench, his body jostling with the impact of Sakusa’s hips grinding into his own.

“Fuck,” Atsumu groans, dropping his head back against the bench. “Love the way ya ride me, baby. Ya feel so good.”

Sakusa leans over and captures Atsumu’s mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue sliding in the moment their lips collide and it’s like Atsumu is being fucked from all sides. He’s overwhelmed as the sensations tumble together, making Atsumu’s brain hazy with want. Sakusa’s lethal tongue tastes sweet as it rolls against his own, licking into every inch of Atsumu’s mouth.

The muscles in Atsumu’s stomach convulse when Sakusa switches up tactics and begins rocking his hips instead of raising them, his cock bobbing against Atsumu.

He still can’t imagine what brought about this utter shift in Sakusa, why he’d gone through all the trouble of baiting Atsumu day after day, week after week until it all came crashing down to this moment. The thought needles its way in, refusing to abate until Atsumu can no longer bear the weight of it.

“Why?” Atsumu gasps out between harsh breaths when they part, gripping Sakusa’s hips hard enough to leave marks. Sakusa can’t read his mind and therefore obviously can’t surmise Atsumu’s meaning, but he hopes he’ll figure it out anyways. “Why now?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sakusa hums thoughtfully, careening his hips in the air for a moment before slamming back down. “Wanna see how your face looks when it’s fucked out. Want you to see mine too. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

Of course, it’s all a game stemming from their competitive nature, another tally marked in their pseudo pissing contest in an attempt to crown a true winner. And the absolute problem in all of this, is that for the first time in as long as he can remember, Atsumu couldn’t give an ever-loving fuck about who places first. 

He just wants more.

And luckily, Sakusa is willing to supply he’s back to rocking his hips and sucking fat open-mouthed kisses on Atsumu’s neck, taking special care to hover over his adam’s apple. Atsumu groans, pushing his hips up and fucking into Sakusa’s hole.

“I- _ hahh _ . Fuck me. God. Your dick feels so good.  _ Ah _ , Atsumu.” Atsumu knows he’s hitting his prostate dead on with the way the words tumble and run together, and still, he doesn’t relent.

The pressure around his cock eradicates as Sakusa stands to his full height, pulling off of him without any caution or concern for the man whose life he’s without a doubt ruining. Atsumu shudders, bereft without Sakusa’s weight on top of him, his body spasming with the denial of a release.

“What the fuck, Omi?” Atsumu groans, pushing his hair back from his forehead as he tries to orientate himself through the fog his mind is muddled with.

“I want you to fuck me against the wall,” he says by way of explanation, stalking off to the hallway a short distance away that houses their showers.

“I appreciate your faith in me, but I dunno if I can hold ya up,” Atsumu says, internally panicking at the schematics.

“Sure you can.” His voice echoes against the walls. “Just be thankful we’re not doing it in the shower. I don't want to risk either of us busting a head open.”

Atsumu’s not so certain that it won’t happen anyways, but still finds himself standing and following after Sakusa into the corridor. The ceiling is lower in this part of the room, the lighting overhead more harsh and unforgiving, and yet Sakusa remains beautiful, the brightness washing him out enough that he looks almost ethereal.

“Get over here and fuck me already,” Sakusa demands from his spot against the wall, a small pout jutting his bottom lip.

Well. So much for that. 

Sakusa tracks his movements as he approaches, an intensity in his gaze that has Atsumu fighting the urge to cover himself, but somehow finds the grace to do so. When he’s finally done dragging his feet and standing before him, Sakusa pulls him down into a kiss, arms wrapped tightly behind Atsumu’s neck. Sakusa hikes a leg around his waist and their cocks brush together, drawing a groan from Atsumu’s chest as he braces himself with Sakusa’s full weight when he pushes back and folds his other leg around Atsumu’s opposite side.

It’s not an easy job, sustaining the weight of a grown man, let alone that of a professional athlete, but Atsumu thanks his lucky stars (and his thighs) that he’s able to bear it.

“This is gonna be pretty quick,” Atsumu admits once he’s seated to the hilt and bracing Sakusa comfortably. He feels lightheaded again, and he can’t be sure if it’s the strain of holding Sakusa’s weight or the tight, dizzying warmth wrapped around his cock.

“Just make sure I come first,” Sakusa snarks, but there’s a fondness glittering in his eyes that doesn’t match his tone. Before Atsumu can question it, Sakusa is using the wall at his back to propel his ass upwards and back down again.

Atsumu groans, head tipping backwards as he meets Sakusa’s thrust.

“Fuck, Omi. Ya feel so goddamn good,” Atsumu cries out, setting a relentless pace as he pushes in harder and deeper.

“Yes! Fuck yes!  _ Ah- _ Right there, Atsu. Fuck,” Sakusa wails, legs tightening around Atsumu’s waist.

And even though Atsumu is the one holding Sakusa up against the wall and sliding his dick in and out of Sakusa’s sopping hole, he still feels as though he is the one being fucked here. Sakusa uses the wall at his back as leverage to bounce his ass harder onto Atsumu, meeting him thrust for thrust, clenching down hard, and taking what he wants with reckless abandon. Every snap of his hips takes Atsumu closer to the edge he’s been precariously floating on.

He’s surprised to find he doesn’t hate it. Sakusa’s dominance, not a deterrent but a catalyst to the drive and hunger that hangs heavy and heady in the air around them. Wins and losses don’t matter to him at all when he’s buried to the hilt inside of Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Sakusa shifts his weight and Atsumu almost loses his balance entirely, but saves them from braining themselves on the concrete below by adjusting their position slightly, centering Sakusa’s gravity on his thighs. And though his mind is full of syrup and thoughts of Sakusa, he still manages to waddle a few steps back before spinning them so that Sakusa’s ass sits on the vanity holding the rows of sinks.

Sakusa gasps out a breath, and whether it’s from how Atsumu’s cock slides in his hole at a different angle or the chill from the tiles seeping into his bones, Atsumu doesn’t know, distracted by the contrast of their reflection behind Sakusa’s back. Sakusa is pale, long, and lean where Atsumu’s complexion is darker, his muscles toned in different ways, shaking slightly in the relief of no longer holding the entirety of Sakusa’s weight.

“Fuck me, Atsumu,” Sakusa begs, wiggling his hips to exert some semblance of traction, “Wanna come.”

It’s the breathless, wanton ache in his voice that finally sets Atsumu’s hips into motion, postponing into Sakusa’s hole with a speed that makes them both a little dizzy.

The slippery pull up and down his cock as Sakusa clenches around him sends Atsumu hurtling towards the edge, gritting his teeth against the onslaught. Sakusa mindlessly claws at his back and Atsumu knows the evidence will be extorted come practice tomorrow, the laughing stock of the gym, but he doesn’t give a single fuck, relishing in the drag of Sakusa’s fingers against his skin.

It’s too much, Atsumu feels himself imploding from the inside out, Sakusa’s hole fluttering around his swollen dick as he angles Atsumu’s head to press their lips together. He feels totally exposed, laid bare as he moans into Sakusa’s mouth, their tongues tangling together.

It isn’t long before Sakusa’s legs shake where they rest at the insides of his elbows. Atsumu cants his hips upwards, groin pressing all the way into Sakusa’s ass before sliding out and back in again.

“Gonna come for me, baby?” Atsumu asks, low and smooth, a breath away from teetering over the edge himself.

“Yes! I-  _ shit _ . It’s for you. All for you,” Sakusa moans, bliss softening his usually harsh expression, curls plastered to his forehead. He leans forward to press his nose into Atsumu’s neck as he babbles another string of curses, sobbing into the sensitive flesh before running his tongue up the column of his throat. “God. So full of your cock. Wanted this for so long.”

Atsumu tries not to read too far into the vague comment, busying himself with chasing after their climax instead, but the words reverberate in his skull. 

_ I’ll be waiting. _

_ Since you can’t seem to read between the lines to save your life. _

_ Wanted this for so long. _

It’s impossible, and yet...

He watches their reflection in the mirror, Sakusa mouthing all over his neck with an urgency that sets Atsumu reeling as he pounds into Sakusa with the last remaining dregs of his strength.

Sakusa keens with his release, his whole body tightening over Atsumu’s frame as white ropes of come spurt over Atsumu’s abs. Atsumu fucks him through the throws of his orgasm until Sakusa’s body goes completely limp and Atsumu follows him over the edge as he spills into the condom with a sob caught in his throat.

They sit, swathed in each other and a satiated silence until their breaths even out.

“So…” Atsumu begins when he’s come down enough that he’s able to speak. Words feel foreign on his tongue. “That was uh… yeah, that was a thing.”

“Use your big boy words, Miya.” Sakusa’s face is still pressed into his shoulder, and even though Atsumu can’t see it, the smile he feels against his skin is telling enough.

“Ya planned that, didn’t ya?” Atsumu asks before he can stop himself. He panics for a moment, worried that he’s crossed a line in their tentative truce, trying his damndest not to let the ensuing alarm show on his face. It’s moot though, as Sakusa doesn’t even bother moving from his position pressed against Atsumu’s chest.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” But Sakusa doesn’t deny it, a slight flush rising on his features

“Let’s go shower,” Sakusa offers, wincing as Atsumu pulls out of him. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that says he plans on doing more than washing the locker room grime from their bodies. Atsumu is loath to comply, but follows him anyway.

There’s no way Sakusa has any stamina left to go another round, right?

—x—

Atsumu vows then and there that he’ll never underestimate the tenacity of one insatiable Sakusa Kiyoomi.

He makes Atsumu come again in the showers, sheathed deep down Sakusa’s throat until he’s blinded by the bright white exploding in his vision. 

It isn’t until they’re clothed again and meandering down the sidewalk that they break the pleasant silence lulling around them, Atsumu stuck deep in the recesses of his mind as he tries to piece everything together.

“Your pickup lines were fuckin’ terrible, Omi.” Atsumu is the first to break the peace, deciding to start with one of the least pressing of matters crowding his brain.

“They worked, didn’t they?” Sakusa replies smugly, an eyebrow arching over narrowed eyes.

“I mean, I guess, but that’s besides the point! Where didya even come up with this stuff?”

“Oh, well,” Sakusa pauses, eyeing Atsumu from the corner of his eye before continuing. “Back in university, I was subjected to a lot of indecent propositions, both directed at me or others in the vicinity, and they just kind of stuck around.”

Atsumu considers what kind of reaction a college Sakusa might have to some frat boy hitting on him, and no matter how he spins it, he thinks it’s the frat boy in question who is subjected to Sakusa Kiyoomi, not the other way around as Sakusa has claimed.

“Why’d ya use ‘em on me, though?” Atsumu braves.

Sakusa doesn’t respond immediately, eyes glued to the sidewalk in front of them instead of Atsumu’s curious gaze.

“I know that I can come off a little cold and distant. It’s not usually my intent and I thought that perhaps this was my best chance to show my interest.” Sakusa shifts uncomfortably, pulling nonexistent wrinkles from his clothing. “I can’t really help the way I am, but I had to at least try.”

Atsumu stops mid-step, mouth slack jawed, eyebrows high on his forehead. He doesn’t even know where to begin on dissecting that sentence. It is such a Sakusa thing to do, unload a few sentences that don’t seem to have any deeper meaning until you learn to look harder. 

And oh boy, has Atsumu learned his lesson there.

“Are you trying to get hit by a car?” Sakusa hisses, grabbing his sleeve and pulling a dazed Atsumu along at his side.

It’s not until they’re off the crosswalk and back on safer ground that Atsumu stops again, grabbing the hand on his sleeve before intertwining their fingers and grinning smugly.

“Ya like me, dontcha Omi-Omi?”

“Oh my god,” Sakusa grumbles, turning away from Atsumu, using his free hand to cover up his face, though the other stays laced in Atsumu’s.

“Are ya blushin’? Ya  _ do _ like me!” Atsumu affirms mocking and proud. “How embarrassin’ for ya.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sakusa groans and Atsumu thinks he might actually start stomping his feet with the despair ensnaring from his sullen form. “I hate you.”

Atsumu pulls Sakusa to his side by their joined hands hard enough that Sakusa stumbles into Atsumu chest, clutching his other arm to help keep his balance. He looks up to Sakusa to find a blush running over his cheekbones, lips pouty.

“No ya don’t, Omi.” Atsumu smiles, not the cocky grin of someone trying to get ahead, but something softer, reserved for genuine moments. “But that’s okay ‘cause I like ya too.”

And then Atsumu has a fist in Sakusa’s shirt and pulls him level to slot their lips together. It’s brief but intimate, more searing than any of their previous kisses.

“I think it’s only fair that I get to fluster ya, seein’ as you’ve been puttin’ me through the ringer for the last month.” Atsumu chuckles, realeasing his torso in favor of taking his hand and pulling him along beside him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sakusa brushes off Atsumu’s very solid argument in favor of tightening his grip on Atsumu’s palm.

Through all the years they’d known each other, scathing comments and provocations remained their default disposition towards one another, unfathomable truths buried beneath layers of easier lies. It seems absurd that Sakusa had spent at least some of that time quietly pining from the background.

It’s impossible. And yet somehow true.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, yeah. I’ll be seeing myself out now...
> 
> Come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/lokurochan)  
> 


End file.
